


Suck it and See

by brillinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Elevator Sex, M/M, Meet-Cute, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23406673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brillinski/pseuds/brillinski
Summary: The lobby is horrifying.The air is heavy with the smell of smoke and sweat, and the stained, worn carpet stretches to meet faded, peeling wallpaper. The light of the elevator button blinks ominously at him from down the dimly lit hallway, but the door to the stairway is crossed with yellow warning tape so he presses the button and waits patiently, listening as the elevator thumps loudly in the shaft above him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 16
Kudos: 234





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn't planning to post this until it was finished but here I am posting it anyway. (-:  
> The rest shouldn't be too far behind.

Derek can appreciate living in squalor.

He himself had lived in an absolutely pathetic apartment for years before he got his job writing for Current Affairs **,** but the building that Isaac had moved into the month prior is one of the dumpiest places he’s ever set foot in. The lobby is horrifying, air thick with the smell of smoke and sweat, worn carpet stained and faded wallpaper peeling. The light of the elevator button blinks ominously at him from down the dimly lit hallway, but the door to the stairway is crossed with yellow warning tape so he presses the button and waits patiently, listening as the elevator thumps loudly in the shaft above him. 

After a surprisingly lengthy wait, it comes to a stop and the doors slowly screech open, reminiscent of the gates to Hell.

_Lovely._

Derek is absolutely going to talk to Isaac about his safety because this place is giving him serious crack den vibes. 

He steps into the elevator anyway, sending a quick prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in that his morning doesn’t end with him plummeting to his death. As the doors begin to close he pulls his phone out of his pocket and sees the text from Laura that had sent him into a rage this morning. A fit that in hindsight was fairly childish and completely unnecessary.

_Dinner tonight with Peter. Do not be late._

“Hold the elevator!” He hears, and although he momentarily considers being a dick and just letting the doors shut his arm has flashed out before his brain can catch up. _Weird._

And then he’s face to face with a young guy wearing a suit.

He’s tall and thin, and despite his obvious youth he carries himself with confidence and grace. He looks about Isaac’s age, with dark, thick hair that’s just a little messy, like he’d been running his hands through it. He’s got long lashes and pretty lips and _he’s grinning_ at Derek like he’d just handed him the cure for cancer when really all he did was extend his arm a bit to prevent the elevator doors from slamming in his face. 

“Oh thank _fuck._ Thank you God _._ _Jesus fucking Christ.”_ He's panting a little, taking deep breaths through his open mouth and Derek is a little in awe but he doesn’t want to be creepy so he just gives a stiff nod and turns away a little. 

The elevator doors shut with a menacing _clunk,_ and the kid continues talking. 

“Yesterday Mrs. Greene let those doors shut right in my face and it took _at least_ a good fifteen minutes for this thing to make it back down here. Last time I help her with her fucking groceries, let me tell you.” He’s holding a bottle of red wine in his hand. It looks like the expensive sort, and he’s gripping it so tight his knuckles are white. “I would’ve just taken the stairs, but apparently someone _died_ a few nights ago and they left the caution tape up which, honestly, wouldn’t usually stop me, but this just feels like the kinda place where all bets are off, y’know?” When Derek still doesn’t respond the kid rolls his eyes a little and falls silent, turning away and leaning his shoulder against the dingy wall. 

Derek feels a little bad, and he wants to say _something_ but the moment has passed and the kid has already pulled his phone out. Derek glances down at his own phone which reveals that he’s lost service, and then the elevator jolts aggressively and comes to a halt with a terrifying grinding sound. 

_Well shit._

The kid stumbles a bit and without thinking Derek grabs him by the shoulders to steady him.

“Alright?” He asks. The guy nods, only looking slightly panicked.

Derek groans, removing his hands from his companion to run them through his hair. He really should have seen this coming. The kid nods again, agreeing with the sentiment, and then looks down at his phone.

“Mother _fuck._ Do you have service?” Derek looks down to confirm that _nope_ he still has no service and he is officially going to force Isaac to move so that he never has to ride this elevator again. 

“Nope.” The kid looks a little sick so Derek adds: “Someone will realize it’s stuck pretty soon though.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’re right.” He doesn’t look convinced, but Derek stays quiet and they both stand there in silence for a few moments before the kid starts rambling again.

“Lydia’s going to fucking murder me if I’m late, and I’m _already_ late but I _told her_ I was running late, and really, I had a _very_ good reason. But I told her I was going to be late and now I can’t text and I’m going to show up significantly _later_ than the already late time I told her I’d arrive. I’m fucked.” The kid rolls his eyes, possibly at himself, as he turns away from Derek again.

“Sorry. Feel free to disregard like, everything I say. Which— you’ve been doing anyway. So. Great.” He runs his hands through his already messy hair and lets out a loud huff of air. Derek smirks a little and stays pointedly silent. 

After another moment the kid is rounding on him. 

“You could say _something_ though. Kinda thinkin’ you’re some silent serial killer type and that’s like, the _worst_ type to be stuck in a fucking death trap elevator with.” 

“I’m not a serial killer.” Derek says. The kid snorts. 

“Thanks. That’s very comforting.” The kid fidgets on his feet, adjusting his position on the wall before muttering _“fuck it”_ and sliding down to the ground. Suit be damned. Derek watches with amusement as he peels the foil from the neck of the wine bottle before fishing a pocket knife from his pocket and pulling the cork out. 

“Want some?” He asks around the cork, which he’s holding between his teeth as he closes the bottle opener and shoves the knife back into his pocket. He spits the cork into his hand once the knife is securely in his pocket. “Don’t have cups but I don’t mind sharing a little spit.” Which is honestly kind of a gross thing to say but paired with the shit eating grin he flashes up at Derek, it works, somehow, and Derek finds himself smirking back at him. 

“Alright.” He slides to the ground next to him and the kid looks up, surprised. “I’m Derek. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He hams it up, holding out his hand for the kid to shake. 

“Wow. Okay. I bring out the wine and you turn on the charm. I can understand that.” He shakes Derek’s hand, sarcastically, somehow. “Stiles, and _the pleasure is all mine.”_ And Derek definitely feels like he’s being made fun of but he finds that he doesn’t really mind as he watches Stiles lift the wine bottle to his lips and take a long sip. His lips are stained dark red as he lowers the bottle and his tongue darts out over his bottom lip to catch a few run off drops. 

When Stiles hands the bottle off to Derek he gratefully accepts the distraction and takes a swig. 

“So. Derek. What brings you to this godforsaken building and this elevator from Hell?” Stiles smiles. “Oh! Are you a hooker? I bet you are. I’d totally sell my soul to sleep with a guy who looked like _that.”_ He gestures emphatically in Derek’s direction, wiggling his eyebrows. He doesn’t even look embarrassed, but he pauses to sip from the bottle again. “Oh, no! No, I know. You’re cheating on your girlfriend, and you picked a side girl who lives in a disgusting apartment building, to like, add to the romance.” 

“The romance of cheating on my girlfriend?” 

“Not, romantic romance. But like, _existential_ romance. Y’know?” Derek shrugs.

“You’re wrong anyway. No girlfriend, no girl on the side, just... visiting a friend.” 

“You didn’t deny the hooker thing though.” Stiles leans in a little, his mouth twisting into a smirk. Derek ignores the way his stomach flips.

“Annnd not a hooker. Sorry to disappoint.” Stiles actually does look a little disappointed for a second. 

“Mm. Too bad. This was starting to feel like the set up to a really low budget porn.” 

“And that’s a good thing?” 

“ _Dude.”_ Stiles looks at him like _Derek’s_ the one acting inappropriate. As if he can not believe Derek would have the audacity to question the goodness of low budget porn. He snatches the bottle out of Derek’s hand.

“What are _you_ doing, dressed like _that,_ in this miserable excuse of an apartment building?” Derek attempts to change the subject and Stiles lets out a loud laugh. 

“I live here.” He says, which for some reason Derek hadn’t considered. “My friend Lydia is getting _married_ and I’m supposed to be at her wedding like, right now. But I forgot the gift in my room so I was just going to dash up…” He trails off, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth. Derek tries not to let it distract him because Stiles looks genuinely upset, but Derek’s mouth is suddenly very dry and he’s suddenly very aware of the temperature rising. 

Apparently Stiles is too because at that moment he shucks off his jacket and tosses it unceremoniously across the small space and Derek is so _, so_ fucked.

***

Forty-seven minutes later and the elevator has still not moved. The wine is nearly gone, and Stiles is laying on the ground, feet propped on the opposite wall, whining. 

“We’re going to _die_ in here.” He says, his mouth thick with weariness and intoxication. Derek grins down at him from his seated position.

“Starting to look like it, yeah.” He spins the corked wine bottle around in his hands as he looks down at Stiles. He’s spent the three quarters of an hour trying not to let himself _stare_ at Stiles, but he can feel himself start to cave. The kid is beautiful, peering up at him from the ground through heavy lashes. As time went by the small space had been getting steadily warmer, and Stiles had been steadily shedding his clothes. His jacket is still crumpled in the corner, his tie removed and draped around his neck, and it seems like every time Derek steals a glance another of his shirt buttons is popped open. 

And he’s so _twitchy,_ constantly changing positions and moving around, clearly restless in the small space. As if on cue, Stiles twists into an upright position, leaning against the wall next to Derek and gently pulling the bottle from his fingers. 

“Maybe they’ll put some money into renovations if the two of us turn up dead?” He flashes Derek a sharp grin before chugging half of the remaining wine and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I think I’d prefer the silver lining of it all to _not_ include our deaths.” Derek says, and he doesn’t mean anything by it, really, but it definitely gets Stiles’ attention. For a moment he just looks at him, slowly blinking his big, beautiful eyes. He looks thoughtful, as if he’s analyzing Derek. As if he can _see_ into Derek’s mind which is a thought so terrifying that Derek pushes it from his head immediately. 

“I think,” Stiles finally says, his voice shifting into something low and intimate as he leans forward. “That if we play our cards right, the silver lining of it all could be _really good_. For both of us.” He’s slurring his words _just_ a little and Derek belatedly realizes that the kid had drunk a lot of the wine himself, and it hadn’t even been an hour. He pries the bottle from Stiles’ fingers, ignoring the soft huff of protest. 

Derek ignores the part of himself that wants to pin this guy to the ground and have his way with him in this grimy, stuffy, elevator. He is an _adult_ now, and he can’t give in to whatever desire he pleases. He can't fuck a stranger into the elevator floor, regardless of how damned good looking said stranger is. He can control himself. 

“ _I think,”_ Derek says, frowning a little. “That you’re a fucking lightweight.” And then he finishes the wine himself. Stiles scoffs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a really hard time finishing this and I'm really not that proud of it but I am releasing it into the void anyway.  
> I've started like five different fics in the past week and I really wanted to _finish_ one so here it is.  
> Complete. 
> 
> Hope everyone is safe and doing ok despite the fact that things are so beyond FUCKED UP right now.  
> Thank you for reading I love you all. 💕

“Hey, how old are you anyway?” Stiles asks a few minutes later, clearly _trying_ to sound casual and therefore being extremely obvious. Derek can’t hide his smirk. 

“I’m thirty-one.” He says. Stiles doesn’t bat an eye. 

“Right. Cool.” Derek waits for Stiles to tell him how old he is, hoping he won’t have to ask but caving when it becomes clear Stiles isn’t going to offer up the information. 

“And how old are you, like fifteen? You get your mom to buy you this?” He taps his nails against the glass bottle, smirking until Stiles shoots him a deadly glare, looking way too offended at the obvious joke. 

“I’m twenty-two, asshole.” And then he shuts down, staring down at his hands while he picks at his fingernails. Derek let’s the quiet sit for a few minutes before Stiles’ silence starts to make him uneasy. 

“Hey? Stiles, I was fucking with you. I’m sorry.” Stiles barely glances up. _Sensitive._

“It’s cool.” He says, which is obviously a lie. Derek huffs in annoyance and doesn’t push further, opting instead to pull his currently useless phone out of his pocket to distract himself. After a moment of fiddling with it aimlessly Stiles shakes off whatever petty annoyance he was harbouring and leans forward. 

“Got any games?” He asks, looking excited at the prospect. Derek can’t stop himself from grinning, but he does stop himself from making another joke about Stiles being a twelve year old. 

“Nope.”

“Damn. Me neither.” Derek raises an eyebrow, surprised. “I mean— I had like a _bunch_ but ended up deleting them to clear up space for photos.” Derek nods, watching over Stiles shoulder as he opens up his camera roll. And then Stiles is giving him a step by step guide to each person he has photos of. 

“This is Lydia and Jackson. She’s beautiful, right? Jackson is honestly kind of a scumbag but she’s happy with him, I guess.” And “Look at Scott’s stupid fucking smile. God I love that kid.” And “Here’s me and my Dad at graduation. He was such a mess that day, my God. Can you tell he’s crying in this?” 

Derek notices a significant lack of photos of his mother, and he feels like an asshole for mentioning her. He tries to think of a tactful way to bring it up but comes up short. 

“So, your mother…” He opens his mouth without thinking, expecting to find the words along the way and then trailing off in panic. _Fuck._ He thinks. _That was the opposite of tact._ Stiles seems to agree as he scowls and lifts his eyebrows in surprise. 

“What?” 

“I just meant, I’m sorry for bringing her up before. I wasn’t thinking.” Stiles shrugs and nods stiffly. 

“It’s fine. You didn’t know.” And that just reminds Derek that he knows _nothing_ about this person that he’s fantasizing about fucking against those useless elevator doors, and yet, maybe _because_ of that, he feels comfortable with him. He doesn’t have to think about the board meeting he’d all but _stormed_ out of yesterday, or Peter and the painfully tense dinner he’d be forced to sit through if he ever made it outside of these four metal walls. It’s just him and this beautiful, rambling, slightly intoxicated guy sitting next to him. 

Stiles continues before Derek can think of something to say.

“It was a really long time ago.” He’s looking at Derek’s lips but his eyes are unfocused. “Sometimes I think that makes it worse though, like, it’s been too long for me to still be _grieving_ really, but all I have are the memories of a nine year old. So everything’s like, rose tinted, or whatever.” He glares at the empty bottle of wine, and then directs his gaze back at Derek. He seems to check himself then. He rubs his hand over his eyes and sits up straighter. 

_“Christ,_ sorry...” Derek just nods slowly while he thinks, only feeling a little out of his depth. He wants to tell him about his own parents, to show him that he understands, but that seems cheap somehow. This wasn’t about him. 

“There’s no time limit on grief.” He says instead.

“I know that.” Stiles snaps back, before blowing out a long breath of air. He turns away from Derek, focusing his attention back on his hands in his lap. When he speaks again his voice has lost all the heat, and he just sounds sad. “I just meant, sometimes I can’t even remember her face, y’know? It’s been so long, but it’s like, this _defining_ thing in my life and I can’t even remember what her voice sounded like.” 

Derek gets it. He can remember being twenty-two and desperately wanting to talk to his mother, to ask for her advice or just hear her laugh. He can understand that feeling of desperation. It’d been easier, since he moved away, but he still felt it sometimes. He feels it now. His mother would know exactly how to comfort this kid, but Derek is at a loss. 

“I think, even if it hurts to forget that stuff, the important stuff is what you remember. Like, even if I can’t see her face in my head when I need it, I _know_ how she’d feel. I know when she’d be proud.” Derek pauses, biting his lip. “Or disappointed.” He adds. 

When he glances over at Stiles he’s looking back at him, the inquisitive look on his face reminds Derek that he hasn’t told Stiles that his parents are dead. Stiles seems to get it though. 

“Yeah.” He says. “I can understand that.” 

Nothing else is said for a few minutes, and as much as Derek wants to break the silence he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, so he stays quiet. 

“Sooo.” Stiles breaks first, quirking his lips into a small smile that makes it clear he’s done talking about his mother. “Your friend going to come looking for you when you don’t show up on time?” Derek thinks about it. Isaac _did_ seem like the type to worry, but Derek was the type to show up hours late, or not at all, especially when their plans were left as vague as they had been.

He shakes his head. 

“What about you? Are your friends going to launch a search party when you don’t show up at this wedding?” Stiles shrugs. “Your _date_ going to worry?” Derek pushes forward, subtlety be damned. Stiles looks a bit crestfallen at that. 

“My _date_ bailed on me last minute. No surprises there though.” His voice is tinged with a bitterness that suggests a long history of disappointment. A moment of silence passes. “Really if anyone’s going to worry it’ll be Scott. Lydia will just be furious, but Scotty will worry. Not that he’ll do anything about it, but he’s been hounding me about moving out of here all year, convinced I’m going to get murdered or something.” Derek lifts a brow. 

“Murdered or something. That seems like a definite possibility.” Stiles grins at him, bright but razor-sharp, and Derek has to look away.

“Is that a threat, Derek?” He all but purrs, batting his eyelashes dramatically. Derek can’t help but smile back. _Ridiculous._

“Mmm. That depends.” He says. “I think you might enjoy it a _little_ too much.” Stiles looks thrilled that Derek is playing along. 

“No arguments there.” He agrees, nodding his head. He leans in again, his voice dipping lower. “You’d enjoy it too though.” Derek blinks and shrugs, helpless in the face of such certainty. 

Stiles catches his eye and refuses to break eye contact, and Derek watches a series of emotions flicker across his face. There’s a question there, and Derek doesn’t know the answer but Stiles seems satisfied by whatever emotions Derek’s giving away. 

Derek is frozen, watching him, but Stiles seems perfectly willing to take the lead. He leans forward and then tugs at Derek’s shoulders and before Derek can really comprehend what he’s doing Stiles is underneath him, trapped between Derek’s body and the elevator floor.

Stiles is lying on the elevator floor with his hair sticking up in all directions, lips parted, eyes wide, and Derek is thrown for a moment at just how perfect he looks. This day has turned into something surreal and strange and wonderful and Derek is honestly half convinced none of this is real. But Stiles reaches up and tugs at Derek’s hair, pulling him in closer until there’s no questioning what’s about to happen.

“Christ.” Derek breaths. “I’ve been _dying_ to get my hands on you.” 

Stiles lifts his head off the ground, clearly impatient, and then they’re kissing.

It’s messy and filthy and although Derek is above him, Stiles is _definitely_ in control as he molds his tongue into Derek’s mouth and lets out a soft whimper. Whatever reservations Derek had seem so, so foolish now that he can taste remnants of wine in Stiles’ mouth and can feel the heat of his body under his hands.

Somehow Derek ends up sitting against the elevator wall with Stiles straddling him. He has this look on his face like he can’t quite believe this is happening, and Derek definitely feels the same way. Stiles is hard against his leg and his breath is coming in short, rapid pants, hot against Derek’s neck. Each breath sends a wave of pleasure straight to Derek’s dick, and he’s closer to coming in his pants than he’s possibly ever been. 

Stiles laughs into his throat when Derek tells him this (cruel), and then he brings his open mouth to Derek’s pulse point and Derek drops the pretense of control. He stands up, bringing Stiles along with him, spinning him around and pressing him into the elevator doors, before freezing. 

“Fuck.” He says. “I don’t— I don’t have anything.” To his immense relief Stiles grins over his shoulder and shifts to pull his wallet out of his pocket. 

It takes until he’s fished out a condom and tossed his wallet to the floor for Derek to realize _this is happening._ And a few moments later he’s pulled it out and slid it on and then his stomach lurches as the _floor starts moving._

“Oh my god! Oh my god, Derek.” Stiles says, spinning around again to face him. “We’re _moving.”_ He sounds half horrified, half amused, but Derek is mostly just angry because _of course_ the timing would work out like this and _of course_ Stiles is going to book it to his friend’s wedding the moment those doors open and he’d most likely never see him again. 

Stiles pulls away and swipes his wallet up from the ground before scrambling to get his clothes in order, and Derek reluctantly does the same, shoving the unused condom back into the wrapper and pocketing it. 

“So, uh.” Stiles looks uncomfortable when he looks at Derek, for the first time since he’d entered the elevator, and Derek feels something cold settle in his stomach. “I know you said you had plans and I know you don’t really _know_ me, but doyouwannacometothisweddingwithme?” 

Derek blinks. Stiles looks _hopeful_ and slightly embarrassed but the elevator doors slide open before Derek has a chance to respond. 

They’re both momentarily distracted by fresh air and open space and they stumble through the doors with equal levels of desperation and wildness. Stiles collapses against the hallway wall, giving it a strange, one-sided hug, and Derek hangs back, watching him.

“We’re alive!” Stiles crows when he turns to face Derek, and then falls against Derek in a hug that is just as desperate but much less one-sided than the one he’d shared with the wall. “Jesus, _fuck._ I can’t believe it.” He sounds like he had legitimately been convinced he would die in that elevator and Derek can’t help grinning at him. 

“Sooo.” Derek says. “About that wedding?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang with me on [ Tumblr](https://brillinski.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
